


the eye of my storm

by suheafoams



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Prince Hongjoong, Prince Seonghwa, emo stuffz but just mostly cheese, loosely i guess lmao, modern prince AU, slight hurt comfort but mostly just confessing cause dumb bois in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/pseuds/suheafoams
Summary: seonghwa better stop bridal-carrying hongjoong and put him down before hongjoong kicks him in the face.(unexpectedly, hongjoong learns that seonghwa cares a lot more about him than he lets on.)
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 28
Kudos: 418





	the eye of my storm

“Put me _down_ ,” Hongjoong hisses as soon as he finally regains his composure, smacking lightly at Seonghwa as Seonghwa carries him bridal style through the hallways. Seonghwa is going to wrinkle his fancy striped suit doing this, and then he’s going to do something petty like try and bill Hongjoong officially through the palace for sartorial and emotional compensation. “I’m _fine,_ you snotty-nosed prince, I said put me _down—_ ” 

“Stop acting tough,” Seonghwa says, ignoring the insult, and Hongjoong scrunches his nose because it’s not so much about acting tough as it is about making sure no one worries about him any more than they already do, but Seonghwa always finds some way to misinterpret Hongjoong’s behavior as egotistical rather than defensive. “I saw your legs start to give out earlier.” 

“You should have just watched me crumple to the ground, then,” Hongjoong says, frustration tangling up in his chest along with other undefinable emotions as he lets out an irritated huff. “I’m sure you’d love to see that, considering how much you like getting on my nerves and poking fun of me at every formal event we both attend.” 

“It’s not very dignified for a prince to reveal his moments of vulnerability to those who aren’t close to him,” Seonghwa says thinly. He looks straight ahead as he continues with, “I don’t like seeing anyone’s weaknesses, to be honest. It’s a little embarrassing to watch.” 

“To hell with dignity. You should have turned around, or something,” Hongjoong says. He tries to wriggle enough so that Seonghwa is forced to put him down but Seonghwa just tightens his grasp around Hongjoong’s upper back and mid-thighs, the heat of his hands bleeding through the thin fabric of Hongjoong’s all black suit. It’s too bad that only a few people got to see Hongjoong looking this good before he was whisked away by a quiet, stubborn prince with motives as confusing as the rest of his personality. “If that’s the case, why go to the effort of carrying me like this when you don’t even like me as a person?” 

Seonghwa’s jaw tightens, and Hongjoong thinks he’s made him upset, because Seonghwa remains completely silent until he’s carried Hongjoong into his own bedroom in the east wing of the estate, letting down Hongjoong gently so that he can transition into sitting on Seonghwa’s perfectly made bed without any mishaps. “I never said that I don’t like you.” 

“You’re always nagging at me about how I’ve done this or that wrong,” Hongjoong says, as Seonghwa lowers himself onto one knee before grabbing Hongjoong’s hand to check for injuries. “And you tell me to be quiet all the time.” 

“Breaking rules is fine if there’s a specific purpose behind that rebellion, but you like causing chaos just to see what happens,” Seonghwa points out, and Hongjoong studies his nails purposefully because...well, that’s an argument he can’t dismantle. “And I tell you to be quiet- _er_ , because you’re super noisy. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you, idiot.” 

A word like _idiot_ really shouldn’t make Hongjoong’s chest tighten the way that it does, except that there’s several layers to the delivery and tone of voice that Seonghwa uses, and as Hongjoong furiously tries to ignore the way his heart feels like it’s expanding inside of him, he asks, “Then how do you explain the super nice act you put on for everyone else except me? You’ll open doors for guests and tell princesses that they look stunning in their atrociously colored gowns and then tell me I look decent for a _carrot_.” 

“The carrot comment was a result of me admiring your hair,” Seonghwa says, rolling his upper lip inward. He’s trying not to laugh, and Hongjoong wants to hit him, but Seonghwa’s still holding onto his hand. “My favorite color is orange, even if I still stand by the belief that a prince in your position should be sticking to natural colors.” 

“Oh,” Hongjoong says, feeling like a wind has come and knocked the breath out of him. Seonghwa clicks his tongue every time he sees unnaturally colored hair on anyone no matter how good it looks, so Hongjoong had never thought of the possibility that Seonghwa might appreciate a hair color on him as bizarre as orange. “Really?” 

“I like the blue you have now just a little better, because it still shows your personality without drawing too much attention,” Seonghwa says, reaching up to smooth out Hongjoong’s bangs. He’s never done that before, never touched Hongjoong unless it’s absolutely necessary or by accident, and Hongjoong blinks in confusion at the almost… fond gesture. “And the super nice thing is just like you described it, an act. I’m expected to maintain a good relationship with everyone even if I’m not super close to them—” 

“So that doesn’t include me?” Hongjoong asks. Seonghwa looks up at him, eyes pensive, and the depth of that gaze leaves Hongjoong shifting unsurely because he doesn’t know what it means. “I’m just saying, it would be nice if—” 

“Nice if what? I smiled at you when I didn’t mean it and complimented you on your clothes even though I don’t like them?” Seonghwa says. “You told me, once, when you were drunk, that people who really cared about your well-being would be honest with you, whether it was good or bad.” 

“Wait a second,” Hongjoong says, gaping at Seonghwa. He still remembers the day that it happened; it had been a month ago, and he’d drunk enough alcohol that it had wiped his memory clean of any events from the night of, although he does remember noticing in the morning that he’d been tucked in with more precision than Yunho’s usual style. “You were with me when I was drunk?” 

“Yes,” Seonghwa says. “Yunho was going to come pick you up or send your people, but I volunteered instead. You didn’t barf, thankfully, but you clung onto me for at least an hour and told me a lot of personal things.” 

Hongjoong feels like all of his insides have been ripped out of him and scattered onto the floor around them for Seonghwa to see, though he would almost be a little more relieved if it were actual guts and not just his inner thoughts that feel so on display. His hands feel clammy, and he thinks he’s going to be sick. “Sorry. I probably unloaded a bunch of nonsensical things onto you, so…” 

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa says, holding Hongjoong in place by the wrists to prevent him from getting up. “Where are you going? You’re still unsteady, Hongjoong.” 

“Let go of me,” Hongjoong says, unused to feeling this panicky and embarrassed. It’s so rare that he’s flustered to this extent, when he’s pretty much immune and unbothered by any judgment, especially if it’s coming from other royals scrutinizing his choice to live as ordinary a life as he possibly can despite being a prince. 

He’s not sure why Seonghwa went out of his way to take care of him when they’re always bickering, for Seonghwa is a quintessential prince, poised and elegant and calm, and Hongjoong brings heavy storms and rain and thunder wherever he goes because he’s known all along that he can never fit in as royalty no matter how hard he tries. Could never get things right because he squirmed in clothes that never felt right until he took them off, never stood with proper enough posture for his parents to stop nagging, never excelled at the things that princes were supposed to beat everyone else at and chose hobbies everyone scoffed at until he stopped talking about his interests entirely. 

The only thing worse than a sober, havoc-wreaking Hongjoong is a whiny, inebriated Hongjoong who spills all of the raw, ugly, silly thoughts passing through his mind without any hesitation, and Hongjoong has unknowingly inflicted that shameful side of himself on Seonghwa. “I’m going home.” 

“Finish listening to me first, will you?” Seonghwa says, a slight grimace the only sign of him struggling as he holds Hongjoong down. “Stop trying to fight me, jeez, _Hongjoong_.” 

Hongjoong makes a strangled noise of misery, finally giving up and just deflating, and Seonghwa kisses his knuckles soothingly before he speaks again. “Am I not allowed to have one person who I’m my real self in front of?” he asks, and Hongjoong frowns, still a little numb from the lingering sensation of the peck on his hand. 

“What?”

“I might not compliment you every single second and minute of the day, but I planned on what to do for your birthday gift five months early, then ordered chocolate from a brand that only produces twelve boxes a year and doesn’t accept reservations or exceptions for even royalty. I bully you a little because you get even more animated when you’ve been riled up, which is cute, and I like having a little of that chaos in my life even if it means dealing with more noise.” 

Hongjoong’s lower lip quivers. Seonghwa has never strung so many words together to say something positive to or about Hongjoong, only lectures or complaints or slightly boring facts that Hongjoong listens to because he cares about Seonghwa’s interests. “Seonghwa?” 

“I’m never going to be a princess who flutters long eyelashes at you and waxes poetic about how handsome you are. Your thoughts, your laugh, your personality... all of those things shine much, _much_ brighter in my eyes,” Seonghwa says. He rests his cheek against Hongjoong’s hands, and Hongjoong can feel the soft hairs on the back of his neck rise at the intimacy of the simple touch. “You gave me your ‘real,’ so I gave you mine in the hopes that you would know how out of character that is for me and see that it meant you were special. I guess you didn’t, though.” 

He chuckles, the sound of it tinged with a sprinkling of uncertainty, and Hongjoong bites his lip. 

“So I’m stupid _and_ blind, is what you’re saying,” Hongjoong concludes, voice cracking, and Seonghwa laughs into the space between Hongjoong’s knees. “Don’t laugh at my voice crack. You’ve got no manners, I want a prince Seonghwa with manners—” 

Then the tears start to come, because Hongjoong is always cold and indestructible until Park Seonghwa enters the picture, which is when all his walls come crumbling down, and this is no exception. 

“I’m just saying that if you still think I don’t like you, you’re wrong,” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong isn’t sure what to look at through the blurriness of his vision, but when Seonghwa lifts his head to grin big and wide at Hongjoong, a soft, all-teeth-baring smile that Hongjoong has never, ever seen Seonghwa show to anyone else, Hongjoong can hardly look anywhere else. “It’s the complete opposite.” 

“Me, too,” Hongjoong says, shuddering as the words tumble out of him. They seem trite, for how deeply he feels, now that he’s finally admitting to himself as well as Seonghwa how highly he’s always regarded the prince who seemed too far up in the sky for Hongjoong to reach, the prince who always listened to Hongjoong from start to finish even if he loved pretending he wasn’t paying attention. “I love you, too, Seonghwa.” 

“Good,” Seonghwa says. His eyes look a little wet, too, but his focus is all on Hongjoong as he swipes his thumb across Hongjoong’s cheek to wipe the tears that fall. “I would have been very disappointed if that were not the case.” 

Hongjoong may never stop being a storm of a prince, but knowing that Seonghwa will always be the eye of it has his chest blooming with warmth. 


End file.
